How Unlikely
by A Write Rose
Summary: What would it be like if a brother and a sister from the same family are reaped for The Hunger Games? Find out as Willow and Rowan Silverbell suffer through this truly unfortunate event.


**At last, the first chapter of my first story! :D Again, this is my first story here on Fanfiction, so I would appreciate it if when you review (not if, right? :P), you could keep this in mind. **

** Yes, I am aware that The Hunger Games series is in present tense, but I really can't write in present tense, so past tense it is. But hey, at least it's in first person. :P **

** Constructive criticism is welcome. Accepted with a leap of joy might be more accurate, actually. XD I seriously feed off that stuff, so please, send it in. However, flames will make me scowl and turn my back. So please, keep a bucket of water with you when reading this story just in case. XP **

** Disclaimer: I am no Suzanne Collins, so that probably means I don't own The Hunger Games. **

Sweat poured down my face as I swung my steel axe down on the puny pine tree. I wiped my brow as I set the axe down, leaning on it as I took a moment to catch my breath. Here I was, on another hot, sweaty afternoon in District 7, performing my chores as usual.

"Getting tired, Willow?" My brother, Rowan Silverbell, teased as he halted in his work beside me. "We've got just two more bundles to collect before we're done for the day."

"I know," I muttered as I wiped my slick hands on my shirt. I gripped my axe again and, with a grunt of effort, brought the blade down on the tree. I heard the whoosh of an axe blow beside me and knew my brother was continuing his work as well.

After another hard blow, the tree I was targeting teetered for a moment, and then fell in a heap at my feet.

"Beat that," I joked to my brother as I positioned myself to begin hacking the fallen tree into a bundle. Rowan just snorted, and a few seconds later his tree came crashing down too. An hour later, we were standing before a heap of six bundles of pine wood just outside our home. Six bundles were required by evening every day from everyone in District 7. As soon as the sun set, Peacekeepers would come and demand this wood. Each bundle represented one tree chopped into smaller logs, tied together with coarse string. I had lost count of just how many bundles I had put together.

With that done for the day, Rowan and I headed back home. Home, in our case, was a rundown, one room, wooden shack in the middle of the forest. But hey, we were lucky. We had a roof over our heads and a clean source of water rushing nearby, unlike some who dwelled in District 7.

Once we were inside, I collapsed on the moth-eaten couch, the axe dropping from my hands to the floor with a clatter. Rowan sat on the armrest, laughing at me, but I hardly cared. This was just another routine part of my life.

Just then Mother entered, clutching a handful of onion roots she had gathered; her hazel hair was tied up in the usual neat bun. "Willow, Rowan, go get some water from the stream," she ordered immediately. I groaned. Typical. I sometimes felt like nearly every time she laid eyes on us, she gave us a chore. As Mother began to chop up the roots with a knife, I sat up and dragged myself back outside, still weary from hacking down trees.

I snatched a bucket at the side of our house, Rowan grabbing the other, and we made our way towards the stream. It was only about a mile away, but by the time we reached it, I was panting and officially fatigued. I could see Rowan was exhausted too, but of course he didn't show it. While I lay on the grass, slowing my heartbeat and refreshing my energy, he brought his bucket to the rushing water, dipping it in until it was filled to the brim. Finally he succumbed to his aching limbs and collapsed in the grass beside me.

"Tomorrow's reaping day," I said randomly, absentmindedly picking at the grass surrounding me.

"Yup," Rowan confirmed casually. While we did indeed get off from collecting the six bundles of wood tomorrow, both of us were 15, so there was always the chance that we would get reaped. I swallowed nervously. We had had no choice but to each sign up once for tesserae to help support our family. Therefore both our names would be entered five times in the reaping. The odds were slim, but it was still possible that our names would be chosen.

At last, twenty minutes later, I felt a bit better, so I pushed myself up and gripped the empty bucket handle. I carried it to the stream and filled it up. By then Rowan had gotten up too, and was clutching his bucket. I nodded, and we both began to drag our buckets back home. There were a few splashes of course, but we made it back with decent amounts of water left. By then Mother had collected more roots, and we entered the house to hear the rhythmic sound of her chopping them.

"Bring one here," she said, putting her knife down. I brought my bucket over to her and set it down. Mother began to toss the onion roots and other herbs in, stirring with a sturdy wooden spoon our father had crafted.

I sat back down on the couch. Speaking of Father, he was currently working hard at the lumber camp several miles from here. In addition to the daily six bundles of wood, each family was required to send at least one person to work for possibly months on end at the lumber camp. While all they did there was chop down more trees, Peacekeepers surveyed the workers there, slashing their whips against anyone who slacked. It was awful, and I rarely laid my eyes on my father because of it. Every now and then he was sent home to rest for a few days, only to be brought back soon afterwards. The last time I saw Father was probably about six weeks ago. Oh, how I miss him.

I glanced out the single, grimy window in our home and saw that the sun was slipping below the horizon. The Peacekeepers would come any minute now to collect those bundles outside. A sweet scent suddenly enveloped me, and I turned to see that Mother was boiling the stew she was preparing earlier over the fireplace.

Mother always prepared stew for dinner. In the special occasion when Rowan or I managed to bring down meat during our chores, her stews were especially delicious. However, neither of us were very good at hunting, so usually the prey found us. Of course today we hadn't been so lucky, so herbal stew was for dinner tonight.

Just then there was a loud knocking on the door. I made for the door, but Rowan got there before me. When he swung the door open, there were the two Peacekeepers who came everyday for the bundles. No words were needed. Rowan soundlessly led them to the six bundles stacked outside our house. They did a quick scan to make sure we had the right amount, and just then a hovercraft appeared over their heads. A claw protruded from the bottom and grabbed the bundles, raising them upwards until they were safely inside. As the Peacekeepers began to leave, so did the hovercraft. Rowan then came back inside, closing the door behind him.

"At least we don't need to worry about them tomorrow," he said as he sat down beside me.

"At least, yeah," I muttered. Meanwhile, Mother had finished tending to the stew. She left it in the fireplace, where it would continue boiling for about an hour. Holding a ball of yarn, Mother settled down in a chair across from us and began to knit. It was a small hobby she had developed, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. My hand flew to the green scarf the color of my eyes wrapped around my neck, crafted by my mother's graceful hands. Rowan wore one too; his was brown, also matching his eye color.

At the moment, Mother was taking on a much more difficult challenge; she was knitting sweaters for us. The yarn came from the shops in the heart of our District, the money earned from the furniture our father carved with his spare time. Yes, he was a skilled carpenter. Father's woodwork sold for decent prices at the market, which allowed for us to spend a little extra every now and then. I don't know where we would be without him.

I threw a glance at Rowan, and when our eyes met, we both agreed on how we would spend the rest of the evening. With my regained energy, I stood up and gripped the bronze axe I had used to chop down trees that morning and headed outside with Rowan at my heels, an axe locked in his hands as well.

"Hey, let's see who penetrate the deepest this time," I suggested as we neared two adjacent trees by the side of the house. Both of them were covered in axe marks, proof of our long hours spent training. Training…just in case. No, it would never happen. We would never participate in The Hunger Games. The odds were well enough in our favor, and yet we still worried anyway.

I hurled my axe at the trunk, all my worry propelling it forward like a bullet. Rowan raised his eyebrows at this as I stepped forward to check how far it buried itself in. It seemed as through nearly the entire hilt had disappeared inside the trunk. Soon I heard a crack beside me and knew Rowan had thrown his axe too. Only about half of his axe made it in. I smirked as I began to tug on the handle of my axe. The darn thing wouldn't budge.

Now it was Rowan's time to smirk. He pulled hard on his own axe handle, freeing it, and then came striding over to my tree, axe in hand. "You won," he stated simply as he observed my struggles.

I glared at him and kicked the tree in my frustration. Of course that only caused Rowan to crack up. With a nearly inhumane growl, I ripped Rowan's axe from his hands and began to hack at the bark around the spot where my own axe was lodged. Soon it came free, and I was now holding both axes.

By then Rowan had stopped laughing and was reaching for his axe in my grip. I thrust my arm over my shoulder, and then, with all my might, I hurtled Rowan's axe in the direction of his tree. "Joke's on you now."

"I'm older than you," Rowan muttered in retaliation as he walked back to his tree and found himself in the same situation I was in a minute ago. It was true, he was older than me by a week and a day, but the fact that he chose to bring it up at that moment made me laugh aloud.

However, I wasn't that coldhearted, so after a few minutes of me being unable to contain my laughter as Rowan attempted to tug his axe free, I walked over to help him out.

That's when I saw it. Crawling along the side of Rowan's tree was a sickening sight; a billipede. Billipedes are another mutation created in the Capitol several years ago. They're based on your average millipede, except they're a foot long and rock-hard, equipped with pincers that are dripping with venom that causes paralysis in a matter of minutes. The Capitol created billipedes to use as a cruel method of torture. They'll drop a few billipedes on a victim and watch as they work their magic. When a billipedes finds flesh, it will paralyze the owner, and then begin to feast, cutting through the skin with their pincers. They were designed to only eat the flesh, so they won't kill, but trust me when I say it's not fun to watch a foot long insect tear up your skin right in front of you. They became quite effective, so the Capitol even released a couple hundred out into the Districts just for the fun of it. The only way to kill one is to somehow flip it over so its belly, the only penetrable part, is exposed. Then stab away, and eventually the vile insect will curl up and die.

Now here I was, staring in horror as the billipede made its slow path up the tree. Soon Rowan caught sight of it too and instantly dropped his hands from his axe handle, slowly backing away. My breathing became ragged as it crawled onto the axe handle just a few seconds later and stood still.

"I'm never using that axe again," Rowan breathed as he watched the billipede. Of course, despite his statement, the day after the reaping another six bundles would be due again, and there was no way I was making those alone. Still, I predicted that the axe would remain in the tree until that morning. Shaking my head to clear the image of the billipede, I turned around and headed back towards our home, practically dragging Rowan with me.

I collapsed on the couch with Rowan as soon as I entered the house, sickening images of billipedes creeping through my mind. Suddenly Mother came by holding a steaming hot bowl of stew in front of me, and I accepted it gratefully. However, soon my hands began to feel as though they were on fire from grasping the bowl, so I set it on my lap as I waited for it to cool.

"We saw a billipede outside, Mother," I blurted out unintentionally. Well, I just had to share the news with someone else, I guess, to shake the weight off my shoulders. I didn't mention that Rowan and I had been training though; since it was actually not allowed, we never mentioned this to her. Rowan nodded as if to confirm my statement as he shoveled the steaming stew into his mouth. I don't know how he can stand the heat.

I saw a flash of fear cross over Mother's eyes as she digested the news, but she hid it well in her response. "Well just be sure to avoid the area for now."

"Of course," I replied. And I was being entirely truthful; I wasn't going within ten feet of that tree anytime soon. After that short exchange, there was no more talk as we finished our stew and washed up. Soon I found myself climbing into bed with my brother, the dreadful reaping day only a night away.

**You like? :D Please keep in mind, by the way, that I threw in a lot of assumptions about District 7 that were never addressed in the real series. Also, I even made my own Capitol mutation! :D That was awfully fun, lol. **

**Anyway, feel free to review. I will really appreciate it. Seriously. **


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